


Half a Person

by predictaslash



Series: I like it here, can I stay. [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Spoilers for 3B), Boners, Dog Jokes, Humor, Lots of thinking., M/M, Still pre-slash what is wrong with me, jealousy!, pop culture references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 03:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predictaslash/pseuds/predictaslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most of the ways he can even describe how he feels about Peter involve some sort of death comparison.  That just can't be healthy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half a Person

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I had to force an ending which isn't really an ending at all. I'm 2500 words into the next installment and there's actual naughty things in it, I swear. Peter and Stiles can't rush this okay--only fools rush in. I hope you like it--I wrote a lot of it during classes when I should have been not doing that. I'll probably have a little thing from Peter's POV up soon. This has some stuff from 3B in it, but I'm still not completely finished and started writing this series only a few episodes in. 
> 
> Enjoy.

It gets weird after that. _-er._ Weird _er._ Not the werewolf thing--Peter was right on that front. Stiles adjusts to wolf life like nothing's really changed. He gets his brain back and gets back to research and planning and, oh, reading. The brief stint in aphasia is not something he would recommend for anyone. 0 out of 10, would not do again. 

Danny is the only suspicious person re: his miraculous recovery. Living in Beacon Hills is like living in Sunnydale; people keep their heads in the sand or they'll have to face the horrible truth. Danny quickly becomes the character who knows a million things don't add up--eventually he'll overhear something while "checking out a book" or "happening to be in the neighborhood." Everyone else just accepts the overnight recovery from the #3 junior at Beacon Hills High. Then again, if his ranking only dropped one spot while he was going through hell and sudden dyslexia, there's not really much competition. The public school system is broken. 

So, anyway, back to normal but with the bonus ability to smell how truly disgusting other teenagers smell. Stiles breathes through his mouth for a solid week before adjusting.

He manages to keep Lydia from eviscerating "that two-faced, undead creep" once everyone realizes who changed him. He has to bodily put himself between her and Peter any time the older man is around, but if Lydia actually wanted to see some bloodshed, she definitely wouldn't let Stiles, of all people, get in her way. It's good to keep Peter on his toes anyway.

He doesn't manage to prevent Derek from throwing him into a wall.

"At least it wasn't straight through this time, " Melissa consoles Derek, watching him repair the drywall and then repaint the entire living room so that it all matches. Peter shows up with an impressive piece of impressionism signed _P. Hale_ to replace the destroyed décor. Werewolf. Zombie. Serial Killer. Painter. A true Renaissance man.

But the point of the whole transition is that the full moon happens two and a half weeks after the bite and Scott and Derek watch over him as…nothing happens. Well, Stiles changes and finds himself with pointy ears and claws and teeth and no eyebrows. But Stiles doesn't go batshit insane with bloodlust.

"Well, Derek, maybe I'm just not maladjusted like your recruits. Maybe Isaac is just defective. I know for a fact Scott is." 

"No, this is strange." Derek's confused face is just not as endearing as Scott's. 

"Dude, I was made for this. This is my super power. I am the Bella Swan of werewolves."

"NO. No Twilight." Aw, so stern. It's reminiscent of his alpha roar, but about 150% times less powerful. Like a kitten hissing.

"You'd have better luck deterring me if you shoved my face in the book and smacked me with a newspaper."

"Save the kinky talk for Peter."

Scott finally chimes in, charmingly befuddled. "Wait, what."

And there's _that_ problem. 

Peter. Peter smells, like, so good. As good as Scott and his dad and Melissa, but in a different way. A very different way. Like Stiles wants to, I don't know, roll around in his dirty laundry or crawl inside of him and stay warm forever. He is Luke and Peter is a tauntaun. A creepy, sexy tauntaun.

Luckily, inappropriate boners do not mean that Stiles is suddenly at Peter's mercy. Peter tries and tries but to no avail. Alpha eyes and voice are wasted on him (uhhh, hello, he's got Bella Swan Syndrome). But, honestly, the feistier Stiles gets, the more Peter himself smells like amusement and arousal anyway. And Peter _always_ smells like amusement and arousal when he doesn't smell like danger.

"How do you handle being around your oversexed uncle?" he asks Derek during one of their training sessions. (Training sessions are mostly Stiles learning how to jump high and claw shit. Training sessions are awesome.)

And, oh, what the fuck, Derek actually looks amused. That can't bode well for anyone. "What do you mean?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean." Dick.

Derek just makes a dumb face with his dumb ears and his dumb teeth like he doesn't understand. Shrugs. Shakes his head. "Maybe you should elaborate."

"You are the worst."

"So Peter tells me."

"Ugh, don't make me go to the internet for answers. I'll make you regret it."

"Maybe if you described your problem."

"Okay, okay. How can you stand being around Peter when he always smells like he's going to pop his, uh, _fangs_ at any time?"

"See what happens when we use our words?" Derek, of all people, saying that. His world is upside down. "And, that's easy. He only smells like that around you. I just try to avoid being in the same room when it's happening."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"BUT WHAT DOES THAT MEAN."

"Besides the obvious?"

"Yes, yes, besides the fact that he's an ephebophile on top of every other horrible thing."

"Well, nothing. Just that he's sexually attracted to you. Unless…" Derek is totally fucking with him--he knows what’s happening and he knows it’s not just about sex. Stiles may not have his emotions radar finely tuned yet, but some things he just knows.

"Unless what, Derek? Unless. what."

"How do you feel when you smell other aroused people?" Derek and Stiles are having a sex feelings discussion. What even is this world.

"Grossed out. Mostly because it's whenever Scott goes all alpha on Isaac." And it's both of them is the thing. It just. It ain't right.

"And how do you feel when you smell Peter?"

Stiles shrugs. It's hard to explain without using the tauntaun metaphor and he really doesn't want to sounds like a psychopath so soon after being possessed by something trying to kill everyone he loves. (And, yes, the term is antisocial personality disorder according to the DSM-IV, but it doesn't have the same ring to it.) Stiles wants to drown in the smell, but that's not so good. Most of the ways he can even describe how he feels about Peter involve some sort of death comparison. That just can't be healthy. "Erm, he, uh, always smells great?"

"Yeah, but so does the pack, right?"

"Except Isaac, but only on principle." Derek rolls his eyes. He made the weirdo, he probably loves how Isaac smells.

"So how does Peter smell different?"

"Uh, well, he smells warm and…not safe, but comforting, like pack. But he also smells like I want to hold him down and hump his leg."

"Stiles. We are not dogs."

"I'm not going to actually do it!"

"Why not. He'd probably be amenable."

"…Derek. You can't be serious. There's a list fifteen feet long of reasons why not."

"You _are_ the only wolf who thinks Peter smells like pack anymore. Who even thinks of him as pack." 

"You don't?" Derek shakes his head. "Maybe it's because he turned me?"

"He turned Scott, too." 

Fuck.

 

Well, this whole mutual-smelling-good thing certainly leaves him with a lot of stuff he doesn't want to think about, emotions he doesn't want to face, decisions he doesn't want to make. Et cetera, et cetera. 

Stiles just does what he's always done in these situations--he resorts to his good friend avoidance. Shoves everything down so deep it might never struggle back to the top and goes on living his life. The human brain is the best.

But Stiles and his treacherous body have never been so great at this whole control thing. Impulses win about 90% of the time. Which is unfortunate since his biggest new werewolfy urge is to shove his face into Peter's neck and breathe until he passes out from lack of oxygen. The first time he feels the need to do this, he’s halfway across the room to Peter before he manages to stop himself. He stands awkwardly in the middle of Derek's loft before he kick-ball-changes and walks over to fiddle around in the fridge instead.

Peter smirks at him as he gulps some OJ from the carton. Stiles is convinced that he's only always smirking so as to seem like he knows exactly what Stiles is thinking when he _really_ doesn't. Even Peter might blush at the thoughts going through his head at any given moment. Then again, he might think Stiles is an amateur and offer tips for the truly depraved. 

 

There’s one weird day when some rogue hunters come into down and try to take them out. Something about proving that they could do what the Argents could not. They have some “human monster” policies in place as a pack, but Peter’s not quite a part of their pack. And yet he’s fighting--actually fighting with claws and teeth and blood and everything--side by side with the pack on this day and Stiles thinks it probably has everything to do with him. 

At one point, the hunters decide go after the newest (and therefore weakest) beta--Stiles. They manage to back him into a corner and get him in a circle of mountain ash, pointing guns with wolfsbane bullets at his head and heart and, really, Stiles thought he would get to enjoy wolfdom at least a little bit longer and maybe even be safer because he could defend himself and at least make it to third base sometime soon. 

He hasn’t really given in, but it doesn’t look great for ole Stiles at this point in the story. “Don’t worry, wolf, we won’t kill you quite yet,” says Murderer #1, in honestly a more high pitched, nasal voice than Stiles imagined from such a bulky, buff dude. “We need to wait for your alpha--or is it alphas? Man, I hear that you get around, kid.” Stiles just rolls his eyes because if this guy wants to get under his skin, well, he won’t. He’s made of tougher stuff than that.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to hear any villain monologuing as twin bolts of werewolf slam into either hunter a few minutes later. 

“About time, you guys.” Isaac and Derek are not far behind Peter and Scott. They are on restraint duty with duct tape and handcuffs as Peter and Scott hold them down. Only, the hunter Peter is holding down might not make it that far. Or out of this rental house alive.

“Peter, don’t!” Scott commands, to no avail. Of course it’s to no avail. Peter would never in a million billion infinity years take orders from Scott.

So, Stiles gives it a try, right when Peter’s about to tear out the guy’s throat. “Peter, please, don’t.” He says it like he would say anything else--no sense of urgency (because, you know, murdery hunters, who really cares that much if they live or die?). He’s really thinking about how other hunters might perceive their lack of mercy even though the McCall-Stilinski pack was completely the victim here. How other hunters might come after Peter for killing a human and Stiles can’t deal with the thought of what could happen to him right now. He avoids thinking about that too hard and shoves it down deep with everything else.

Stiles doesn’t know how he knows that Peter will stop--everything up until today typically points to a pattern of deadly force in 97% of incidents involving the alpha. 

But, Stiles does know. Feels it in his bones and his heart. Peter does stop. Peter takes a breath, a step back, blinks and the red is gone from his eyes--he’s the picture of cool and collected. He looks like it was easy for him, like it was his choice, like he’s going to shrug because he wasn’t really that intent on killing this guy anyway. 

Stiles knows better than that. And he shoves that deep down, too.

Chris arrives only a few minutes later, extra beardy and haggard now that his whole family is dead. Stiles’s efforts with Peter turn out to not really matter when one of the hunters (obviously, the stupid one) says, “Working with werewolves, now? No wonder you couldn’t keep your daughter--” A bullet goes through his head in the same instant Isaac goes for his throat. 

Stiles and Derek both sigh at the mess. The other hunter does not say anything, which bodes well for his future.

 

The thing that Stiles forgets about avoidance and bottling up emotions is that they usually end up exploding in his face at the worst possible time.

They are consoling a few innocent bystanders when Stiles has his first werewolfy freakout. It's nowhere near trying to kill your best friend in a locker room for no real reason, but still. There goes the Bella Swan theory. Unless being a possessive dick actually counts as being good at wolfiness, but the lack of self-control means some point deductions from the judges.

It's not like Stiles doesn't know that Peter is a terrible flirt. It's just that the people he usually flirts with know he's a killer and hate his guts. So when he's being his usual smarmy, yet insanely attractive self at the scene of the will o'the wisp crime (yes, technically...fairies, god, this town needs to be paved over), it's not a big deal. Until one of the bystanders starts flirting with Peter. And touching his arm when she says things. And undressing him with her eyes.

Scott, alpha that he is, notices...not at all. Isaac, helpful boy that he is, notices and does nothing but sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. Derek, experienced with dumbfuck teenage recruits as he is, notices and grabs his arm to hold him back. The smell of Stiles's own blood as Derek digs his claws in doesn't even stop him. But it certainly stops Peter right in his tracks. 

He whips his head around, obviously, blatantly scenting the air. He just abruptly walks away from the woman (the harlot, Stiles unfairly thinks) and comes over to pull Stiles away from the prying eyes of civilians. Especially the ones close enough to notice Stiles's skin knitting itself back together like magic. 

Stiles struggles in the older man's arms as if he doesn't even realize what's happening, as if he wants to break away and claw that woman's eyes out anyway. It doesn't matter that Peter's walked away, isn't interested, is only paying attention to Stiles. 

"You need to calm down." Peter crowds him against a brick wall, brackets him in with his arms, with his whole body. Blood is still pounding in Stiles's ears, but he's not fighting to tear away any longer. "Listen to my heartbeat." But he can't isolate any sounds, he can barely hear Peter's words. "Breathe." Peter places Stiles's hand on his chest, brings up his own over Stiles's heart. "In." Okay. "Out." Okay. He knows his eyes are still glowing gold and his claws are still out and he looks down at them as they clutch at Peter's shirt. Once he's breathing like a real person again, Peter slides his hands over Stiles's, and just holds them. 

He feels like he's just getting a hold of himself and moving on from irrationally enraged to appropriately embarrassed, when Peter--fucking Peter--starts going to town licking up the blood on his forearm. And makes this noise, this surprised little grunt. It goes straight to Stiles's dick. His claws have no chance of receding at this point.

"Derek lied to me. We are actually dogs." Because Peter is licking his wound clean. Well, former wound area spot. "Or vampires?" His voice cracks a little, but Peter doesn’t seem to notice--just keeps going to town on his bloody arm.

Stiles looks away so that maybe he can pretend he doesn't have a raging hard-on and try to get himself under control enough so that he can get in the Jeep and drive away. But it's a mistake because he makes eye contact with Lydia over Peter's shoulder and she looks the most disgusted he's ever seen her. And that includes the multiple times he asked her out from Kindergarten through the 8th grade. Also that time they found the inside-out bodies on the campgrounds a county over. So, it takes a lot for Lydia to be the most disgusted ever. 

He shrugs at her and makes a motion that he hopes conveys something like _werewolves, right, who knows, what can you do with these crazy shapeshifters and their weird quirks, we'll probably laugh about this later_. He doesn't think it's very convincing since he just stands there and waits for Peter to finish and his whole face and neck are probably red and there's sweat on his brow.

At least he didn't maul anyone in front of his dad. Who is just around the corner. Oh, jesusfuck. That thought gives him the presence of mind to pull his arm away and push Peter out of his personal space. 

"Thanks for, uh, that."

"Anytime." Peter makes a show of running his eyes up and down Stiles's body before calmly walking over to the rest of the pack. There's a spot of blood at the corner of his mouth still and Stiles runs off with a "GOTTA GO DO SOME CALC HOMEWORK SEE YOU AT HOME BYE" shouted at his dad.

He runs the entire way home and jerks off so fast and hard that he's legitimately worried about blisters. He has to ask his dad to drive him back to pick up his forgotten Jeep in the morning. They definitely don't talk about it.

 

After that, because Stiles isn't dealing with enough changes and problems and general life fuckery, Lydia starts being weird. And, considering hanging out with Lydia and translating obscure ass ancient Greek is his way to avoid the weirdness that is his life, Stiles really doesn't appreciate this turn of events.

She's, like, touching him a lot. Innocent touches, but still. Not normal.

"Lydia, what are you doing?"

"Hm?"

Stiles makes a point of looking at the hand on his shoulder and then back up at her beautiful, beautiful face. He wonders at how his body isn't all over it, how a decade of crushing on someone seems to have disappeared with one bite. "You're going to end up in a ditch if Peter catches you doing this." Stiles doesn't know how he knows this--he just does. This wolfiness comes with a lot of instincts that Stiles knows better than to ignore.

"And why should Peter care?" As ever, his name is a curse on her lips. Stiles feels conflicted--he understands why Lydia has more reasons than anyone ever to hate Peter and Stiles knows what it's like when your mind no longer belongs to you. But, still. "It's not like you belong to him just because he bit you."

"Lyd, I don't want to be speciesist, but you smell weird. Not human, not wolf. Not bad weird, you smell good, but not the right kind of good." Also you use me for brain boners and then go bone a murderwolf twin instead, so. He doesn't say that out loud for many reasons. And the fact that this is coming up now that he's a wolf, which, you know, Lydia's type. And now someone wants him and all of a sudden Lydia does too? That remains unsaid as well.

"I guess I thought with all that's happened we'd just end up…"

"Yeah. Yeah, me too."

"Just be careful."

"Ohmigod, Lydia, I had the safe sex talk with my dad, like, forever ago and I'm pretty sure werewolves can't--"

"With Peter. Specifically with trusting Peter and letting your guard down, moron. I can't believe a second ago I was trying to come on to you."

"Speaking of that, can I brag that it happened? I like to freak Danny out by being multifaceted and unpredictable."

"No. I will cut you."

"No you won't. You totally want this bod, admit it."

Lydia grabs a letter opener from her desk and stabs him and leaves it in. He's still laughing as he pulls it out and watches blood drip on Lydia's pristine carpet. Somehow he ends up scrubbing the stain out while Lydia paints her nails.

 

That night, Stiles lays in bed and finally starts to mentally map this thing out. As he thinks about his alternative universe interaction with Bizarro Lydia, he tries to figure out exactly where he wants whatever this is with Peter to go. 

This thing with Peter, it's like he's being owned, consumed, even when he's just sweeping his kitchen or studying for English. Like he's a possession. But not in an abusive way, at least not since Peter stopped actively trying to kill him and his friends. There will be no "he just does it because he loves me" moments in this already dysfunctional relationship. Because when it comes down to it, Stiles is pretty sure he has all the power. Which has never happened to him, like, ever.

That being said, he's pretty sure if anyone else ever touched him or just looked at him in a suggestive way, Peter would maim and murder. Stiles is fucked up enough to go gooey inside at that thought. Note to Stiles: Psychopathy probably contagious through werewolf bites.

Still, it was nice to have someone belong to him, to even _want_ to belong to him. To be the center of someone's world.

And Peter would never ask questions like "Are you sure?" or try to push him away because he deserves a shot at a normal relationship or try to convince him to go away for school to get the real college experience. Peter is a selfish, self-motivated being. Stiles likes knowing exactly where he stands in all of this and that Peter respects him enough to understand that he knows his own mind. Or, now he does. There was that span of time when his mind and body were being controlled by a demon that was trying to kill or ruin everyone he loved. 

Stiles can also pretend he's taking one for the team. Saving the world with his mouth. Gay love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day. And other pop culture references. If anyone asks, he'll say, "My dick is magic. Melts the cruelest of hearts. A cure for all woes."

TL;DR: Despite the fact that Peter managed to roofie Stiles and his friends through Lydia from the grave that one time, his dick is willing to overlook it. 

So, now what? He and Peter sit down and DTR? And then after that they live happily ever after and fuck like werewolves in heat?

There's kind of still the problem of him not keeping secrets from his dad. His dad, the sheriff. The sheriff who has been remarkably awesome and amazing about this whole werewolf thing, but probably wouldn't be excited about Peter Hale, of all people, breaking the law and taking his underaged son's precious virginity. So a family meeting is in order before Stiles can proceed. He invites Derek over for dinner the next night so that he can have someone maybe back him up on how werewolf hormones or bonds or whatever are making Stiles want to maybe date Peter. Sounds great. Nothing could go wrong.

 

He literally sends an evite to Peter asking him over "because reasons" and bakes cookies. And shoves some wolfsbane mace in his couch cushions just in case this whole thing goes horribly wrong.

When Peter arrives, he ushers him into the living room and over so that he’s standing in front of the sofa. He places his hands on Peter’s (very firm) chest and rubs his thumbs at the hemline of that deep vee. He makes a point of making eye contact with Peter and barking--heh, barking--out an order. "Sit." Because why not.

Peter sits instantly and looks incredibly confused, just for a second. Then peeved. Then he shrugs. "And what are you going to make me do now that you've figured out your special power?"

"Ohmigod, this is Twilight. We all have special powers, right? Derek's is brooding and yours is making people pee themselves and Scott's is having a pure heart and Isaac's is leaning against things and posing. I thought mine was being a badass at being a werewolf, but maybe it's mind control."

"And how does it go when you try to tell Scott what to do?" 

"Hm, point. Maybe it only affects the soulless."

"Maybe I'm only letting you think you can control me."

"Puh-leeze. To what end? I know you're out of ideas. I read your notes."

"Shocking invasion of privacy." It's really not. Stiles is the nosiest boy whoever nosed--his new abilities only further help him along. 

"Dude, don't worry, I won't abuse it. Much. I have morals."

"How boring." Peter does look genuinely let down by this. 

Stiles kind of always imagined it with Peter holding him down and being rough and leaving bruises. Throwing Stiles around, manhandling him. It's a little different now that he's a wolf, too, and nearly as strong. Maybe he can boss Peter around and tell him to do those things and it will be a sexfest to be enjoyed by all.

"So, anyway, I didn't ask you over for canine manners class. Here's the deal: my dad has gone through some shit recently including almost losing me, his precious only child, to a chaos fox spirit. We are completely honest with each other. So I told him that you would be, uh, werewolf courting me and--"

"I'm sorry, Laura Ingalls, did you just say _courting_?"

"AND he said, well, first he drank a lot of scotch. And then he said 'No funny stuff until you're 18, werewolf or not' or he'd put two wolfsbane bullets in your brain before you even had time to blink. And Derek offered to help him bury the body. I can see why the Beacon Hills dads have been broing out with him lately."

"You had Derek in on this?"

"He likes to talk about disemboweling you. I like to see him not sulking, sometimes while feeding him lasagna. Win/win." So he likes to see people eat, so what? He tries not to think about the title of ‘pack mom’ that Isaac tried to bestow upon him--what a catty bitch.

Peter can sense his mind starting to wander. “Back to the point: you told your dad that we are going to be dating and made the choice for me like a 1950s housewife?” Trap.

“Ugh, no, this is me declaring my intention to date you or whatever it is werewolves do.”

“Stiles, we date. You’ve done enough research to know there’s no special term for it.”

“Yes, and now _we_ , you and I--” He gestures to the empty space between them. “Will date. If you want. I am in this and ready and shit.” Mature. as. fuck.

Peter crowds against him suddenly so that Stiles is pressed into one corner of the sofa, the arm digging into his back. “Even if that means being consumed, Stiles?” And now it’s hot like burning in here. “Even if I don’t like to share and once you’re mine, I’ll never let you go?”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he whispers, throat dry. 

Just as suddenly, Peter pulls back and situates himself with his arm across the back of the couch, slightly curved around Stiles’s shoulders. Looking cool and calm and collected, but there’s that little tinge of supernatural brightness to his eyes that gives him away.

Stiles has a feeling it has nothing to do with maintaining the upper hand and everything to do with Peter’s urges to follow his instructions--to please him. To roll over and show him his belly and submissive pee a little. (Derek is wrong--dog metaphors _never_ get old).

Neither of them seem to know what they’re doing, but they know better than to go against their instincts. 

Peter finally clears his throat and speaks again.

“ _No_ funny business?”

Stiles groans. That sounds more like a smirk and a "challenge accepted" than an agreement.


End file.
